He sets it on the bed between you, as if he wants the truth to have space.
“I didn’t come to your town by accident,” he says.
“And I didn’t pick you because I couldn’t see.”
Your fingers hover over the envelope, trembling.
You feel the old fear rising: the fear of being chosen for the wrong reason, the fear of being a joke someone tells later.
You force your hand down and open it.
Inside are documents stamped with seals and signatures.
A legal letter.
A court filing.
A name that makes your throat close because you’ve heard it whispered in town like a ghost story.
Your father’s name.
You look up sharply.
Mateo’s eyes don’t move away.
“I’m a lawyer,” he says. “A real one. And I’ve been investigating a case tied to your family for months.”
Your mind scrambles.
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